


Marigolds

by xx_h3ll0k1tty_xx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, Closeted, Dementia, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Insecurity, LGBT, LGBT+, LGBTQ, M/M, Minecraft, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, lgbtq+, mlm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xx_h3ll0k1tty_xx/pseuds/xx_h3ll0k1tty_xx
Summary: George, an insecure boy with borderline personality disorder falls in love with Clay, a lonely photographer.
Relationships: Clay | Dream &; GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Broccoli Cheddar Soup

The kitchen was one of the few places where George found his tranquility. Not because he was a glutton, but because he enjoyed using baking and cooking as a way to distract himself from the troubling thoughts that seemed to constantly invade his head. Every day he cooked for himself and his mother. Though George loved her more than anything, he was twenty one and beyond ready to move into a place of his own. The only issue was that they were both struggling with money, and neither George nor his mother could afford to live alone.

George was hard at work in the kitchen, chopping up broccoli, carrots, celery, and onion for the soup. A gorgeous, fluffy loaf of homemade bread was baking in the oven, and the tantalizing aroma that travelled from the kitchen into the rest of the house made both of their stomachs grumble. She carefully walked up behind George. He looked like a giant standing next to her. “What kind of soup are you making?”

“I told you already. Broccoli cheddar.” George added the chopped vegetables to the pot with the stock, wiping his hands together after to brush off anything stuck to them.

“Oh, I forgot. That’s my favourite,” gasped his mother. “Why is it only called broccoli cheddar if there’s so many vegetables that go into it?” She looked down into the pot. “Why not call it, broccoli-carrot-celery-and-onion-cheddar?”

“I don’t know, mum.” George sighed heavily.

“Georgie, your shoulders are practically touching your ears! You seem so stressed.” His mother frowned. “Why don’t you go and lay down after you eat?”

George, with clenched fists and teeth, shook his head. He couldn’t remember what he was so frustrated by—something had bothered him earlier in the day and by now he’d forgotten what it was—but the stress still affected him physically. “I can’t. I have things to do.”

“Okay…well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do. You need any help in here?”

“No.” George moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Everything is pretty much done. The bread should be ready soon, and the soup needs just to simmer for twenty minutes.” He knew he was being high-strung but he couldn’t help it. Hopefully his mother didn’t think he was annoyed with her.

Once the food was ready, George and his mother sat and the table and ate together. They had a conversation about their days, which was mostly George’s mother rambling, while he only got a few words in, but George liked it that way. He didn’t really enjoy talking. Especially not to his mother. Of course he loved her, but he just wanted to be alone most of the time.

George tidied up after they finished eating. “Oh, mum, I forgot to let you know that I won’t be home for most of the day tomorrow.” He rinsed their dishes in the sink before placing them into the dishwasher. “I need to go around the city and submit my resume to a few places. The shop hasn’t given me more than four shifts a week in months.”

“That’s a good thing, though. That means my baby boy gets to spend more time with me.” She smiled sadly up at him.

“No, mum, not a good thing.” He wiped down the stovetop and the counters. “It’s a really bad thing, actually. I’m not making enough right now, and I don’t exactly want to work two jobs but it seems like I have to.”

“You don’t have to. You can just stay here with me, forever.”

“No, mum, I can’t do that.”

“Why—“

“I just can’t. Please stop asking me questions. I feel like I’m going to go crazy.”

George’s mother chewed at her bottom lip sadly and stared down at the table. He finished cleaning up the kitchen before the two went off to their respective bedrooms.

The boy flopped onto his bed horizontally and stared at the light on his ceiling. He knew he needed to get up so he could turn off his light, and so that he could lay on his bed properly, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Tugging at his jeans, he managed to pull them off without undoing them. George kicked them across the floor to the corner of his room and continued to stare up at the ceiling, wishing for something better.


	2. Golden Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so…  
> i posted my first chapter yesterday just to see how posting things on AO3 works (i’ve been using AO3 for at least six years now but i only made an account recently), and i was shocked to see that some people have already seen it. thank you to everyone who checked out my story, it means a lot to me! i hope you enjoy what’s to come ^_^

George startled awake at the sound of a repetitive banging outside of his room. “What the hell!” Sitting up abruptly and rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, he took a disoriented glance around his room. He had fallen asleep in a random position again. 

“Sorry. I didn’t know if you were awake or not. It’s 10:00 in the morning, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to get up early so I figured—“ she began while opening the door.

“No! Mum! Jesus, don’t come in! I don’t have pants on!” he cried, scrambling to get out of bed and shut the door before she could see anything. She chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry. I made you breakfast. Feel free to come sit with me when you’re all ready.”

“Thank you.”

George did the bare minimum by getting dressed and then making his way out of his room and to the table. He decided to brush his teeth after eating as to not ruin the taste of the pancakes and fruit his mother had made for him.

They sat and ate breakfast together, George’s mother once again rambling on about the dreams she had last night. George picked at the pancakes. He could tell she didn’t add enough flour to the batter because the pancakes were dense and chewy rather than fluffy. One egg per cup of flour, he told himself.

“How are the pancakes sweetie?” she asked with her her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, smiling up at him like an eager child.

“They’re delicious,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. They were tasty, but the wrong texture.

The two chatted and ate together until they both finished, then George took it upon himself to put their dishes in the dishwasher. He went to the washroom and spent a good ten minutes freshening himself up before leaving the house.

The brit made his way around the city of Manchester by bus, handing his resume out to a variety of places. He went to a coffee shop, a bookshop, a stationer’s, and a few grocer’s. There were a few more places that he was planning to bring his resume to, but he was exhausted. It was already 4:30 PM and he just wanted to go home, he hadn’t slept well last night and he had work tomorrow. The least he could do was be well-rested.

He decided to pick up a coffee, not from the place he’d just given his resume to as that was too embarrassing for him, but from Starbucks. He seldom went to Starbucks, it was too pricy for him—he’d rather make his coffee at home—but he was craving it now. He couldn’t wait until he got home.

George left the Starbucks with a large black coffee, holding it with both hands to keep them warm. Despite it being a beautiful, warm day out, his hands were freezing cold as usual.

As George made his way towards the bus stop, he noticed a dirty-blonde haired boy running down the sidewalk. “Hey, you!” he shouted. It looked like the boy was running towards him, but George knew better than that. He’d had way too many embarrassing encounters where he thought a stranger was talking to him in public when they weren’t. “You! Short guy with the brown hair!” George halted as he registered the words said to him. Judging by the accent, this was an American.

“Uh. Me?” George pointed at himself.

“Yes! You,” the boy laughed, slowly jogging the rest of the way towards him. “Can I take some pictures of you?” George only just realized that this American boy had a camera slung around his neck.

“God, you Americans are weird...” George muttered under his breath. He half expected the boy to be offended, but instead he just laughed some more.

“Oh, I know.” The boy tilted his head down at George, literally towering over him. He knew if he thought too much about the height difference it would make him insecure. Though he liked guys who were taller than him, it also made him feel inferior in a way. “Well. I just think you look interesting. You know, like, overworked man walking down the street with a coffee in his hand,” he said dreamily. “You like, an entrepreneur or something?”

George was dumbfounded. “You think I look like a businessman?” he asked, almost sounding offended. “I’m not. I work at an arts and crafts shop, and I’m actually job hunting right now. So…definitely not an entrepreneur.”

“Job hunting? Didn’t you just say you work at an arts and crafts store?” the boy scratched the side of his head.

“Yeah, I haven’t been getting many shifts lately. Uh. Why are we talking about this?”

“My bad!” The boy shifted back and forth on his feet. “So, what do you say about those pictures?”

George was ready to spit out a harsh no and keep walking, but this boy had been kind to him. Nosy, but kind. Why not help him out?

“I mean…I guess so, but I’m not photogenic…”

“Oh! That doesn’t matter. I’m not a modelling agent or anything,” the boy laughed. “Even though I definitely think you could be a model.” He tugged on George’s sleeve and guided him to where he wanted to take the photos. George suddenly realized how sketchy this was: a strange American he’d only just met dragging him to a random location to take pictures as if they were best friends.

“So. How old are you?” asked the American.

“I’m twenty two…”

“What!” The boy whipped his head around to look George dead in the eyes. “Twenty two? You’re lying. You look so much younger! If you told me you were in high school I’d believe you.”

“Thanks,” muttered George.

“Oh. Is that an insecurity of yours? That you’re small and young looking?” The American continued to lead the way. George blinked. How did this boy manage to be so blunt yet nothing he’d said so far had offended George? If those words had come out of anyone else’s mouth he probably would’ve cried about it when he got home.

“Uh. I don’t know. How old are you?” George asked, trying to change the subject.

“I just turned twenty.”

“Twenty!” George gasped, watching as the American’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What, is that an insecurity of yours? That you’re so tall and old looking?” he teased, causing the boy to wheeze as if that was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard.

“You got me there.” The boy turned his head away from George for the first time in a while, then gasped. “Oh! We’re almost there, follow me,” he said, as if George hadn’t been following him this entire time.

Eventually they made their way to a wooden table and chair that was next to a large, old building. There was a large field full of grass and flowers and devoid of any architecture just a few feet away. The sun slowly made its way out from behind the clouds, shining proudly onto the two boys’ skin.

“Golden hour.” The American smiled. “Sit on the chair for me?”

“This is where you want to take your pictures?” asked George, hesitantly sitting in the old, wooden chair which felt as though it could snap in half at any moment. “Isn’t this kind of an ugly spot? Why not in that field over there?”

He shrugged. “It’s quirky, don’t you think? I don’t care so much about if my pictures are pretty or not, I just want to capture an experience.” The dirty blonde pointed his camera at George. “As long as the composition is perfect and I’m able to capture the subject’s emotions, then I’m satisfied.”

What does that even mean… George wondered if he should be posing. He didn’t even know if the American was taking photos yet. His coffee was no longer unbearably hot, so he took a generous sip.

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“George. What’s yours?”

“Nice to meet you.” The American jokingly bowed his head to George. “I’m Clay.”

George nodded slowly. “I’m sure people make jokes about your name all the time, so I won’t, even though it’s tempting,” he giggled. Suddenly, Clay started smiling like a maniac, which freaked George out. “What?”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh today!”

“Oh.” George blinked. “Why does that matter?”

“You have a really cute laugh. Also, I’m done taking the photos.”

“Already?” asked George, trying to ignore the fact that Clay called his laugh cute. He knew if he thought about it too much it would embarrass him, and then his face would get red. “I didn’t even know you were taking the pictures yet.” Oh, no. Did he take pictures of me while I was laughing?

“Yep. All done. Could I get your number?”

George blushed. “What?”

“You know, so I can send you the photos.”

He shook his head at himself. Obviously. “Oh. Yeah.” George pulled his phone out from his back pocket.

The two exchanged numbers and then parted ways. Clay tried to give George a hug, but he rejected it. Not that he didn’t want to hug Clay…in fact, he really wanted to. But he was already flustered and he didn’t want to make it worse.

George took the bus home. He lay against the window, his head knocking against it occasionally when the bus would drive over a speed bump. His coffee, which was now lukewarm instead of hot, was held between his thighs. The sun was beginning to set. The blue sky transitioned to a powerful gold with milky white clouds bumbling lazily across the sky. For some reason, as George stared out the window, the only thing he could think about the entire ride home was Clay.


End file.
